


Possession

by PromotingAndFetishizingViolence



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Animal Death, It's hurt/comfort/hurt again/comfort again, Lawrence is a sad boy, Lawrence/MC isn't a pairing so I guess it's an OC?, Other, Possession, Reader Insert, Regret, kinda hurt/comfort?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9875837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PromotingAndFetishizingViolence/pseuds/PromotingAndFetishizingViolence
Summary: Lawrence really does despise violence, as much as It loves it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in...3 years? And it's goreporn. My english teacher would be proud.
> 
> Also, a cat dies. Sorry, cat. Don't read if that squicks you out.
> 
> As always, keep it SSC, I don't condone this IRL, etc etc. Don't be a dumbass and ruin BTD for the rest of us, thanks.

Lawrence despised violence.  
It made his stomach curl and even a little bruise made bile rise to the back of his throat. He couldn’t stand the idea of anything being in pain.  
It didn’t care. It loved violence, wanted to see blood.  
He found a cat once, a tiny, scrawny thing that could barely get out a weak meow, her whole body shaking. Lawrence remembered holding it in his arms like a baby, rocking her back and forth and cooing softly. He remembered gently petting her soft belly as he fed her milk out of a baby bottle, until she eventually grew strong enough to hop on shelves and sleep next to his cacti. He remembered the way she would climb on his shoulders, watch him water his plants around the house. He remembered her soft purr and the way she vibrated on his lap when he sat down to read.  
He remembered her howl when It ripped her heart out.  
It used his body to do it, so he remembered the feeling of warm organs squelching between Its fingers, the taste of blood when It buried Its face in her soft belly to tear her apart with Its teeth. Lawrence wanted to scream. It just smiled.

That’s why he was nearly shaking when he met you, even though It hadn’t shown itself in nearly a year. You were kind to him, with a gentle touch and soft eyes that he didn’t feel pressured to look directly into.  
_The cat’s eyes burst with a small pop when It squeezed them in a fist, and Lawrence wanted to puke._  
His hands shook when you first held them, his cheeks pink and his icy blue eyes focused hard on your fingers entwined with his, and he smiled just a bit when you gently squeezed them.  
_The cat’s bones broke easier than he would have thought, snapping with a wet crack._  
He jumped a little when you first kissed him, chapped lips giving him the lightest of pecks on his cheek. His face turned bright red, looking at his shoes. You held his hand gently as you leaned in once more, your free hand gently guiding him to face you until your lips met his.  
_The cat’s skin didn’t even have time to cool, it felt soft and warm between Its teeth._  
Lawrence loved your smile, your laugh, your voice. He loved the way your fingers traced circles in the back of his hand, the way you guided his chin up when you noticed him looking down. He loved _you._  
That’s why he protested when you said you wanted to see his house, the plants he loved talking about (when he talked at all). He made silly excuses, told you it was messy, he hadn’t had time to clean up, you wouldn’t like it because it was cramped and dark and smelled like earth. You told him you didn’t care.  
Lawrence didn’t notice the small tug at his lips, he was already smiling.

You let him show you around his home, pale hands pushing away leaves and blooms as he made his way around the house, occasionally stopping to show you a flower or leaf he especially loved. He showed you his collection of small rocks and pebbles he had collected on his walks, sorted into piles. He stuttered and blushed when he played with one in his fingers, and his hands shook when he held out a small piece of rough quartz. A chip in the top gave it a vague heart shape. He smiled a bit when he saw the smile he loved, and even put a tentative hand on your back when you hugged him.  
It was then that he was painfully reminded why he was hesitant to bring you home.

Its hand held you a bit tighter, fingers balling up into a fist. You pulled back from the hug, too distracted by Lawrence reciprocating your affection to notice the fist until it made hard contact with your stomach, right below your ribcage. You fell, coughing and wheezing for air on his cold, hard floor.  
_Nononono not now not now not them please-_

“Law? Why di-”

You didn’t have time to get out the whole word before It was on top of you, straddling your chest with Its hands around your neck. Your eyes widened and you clawed at It, gasping for air. It growled profanities at you, and you felt your eyes sting with tears. You didn’t understand. This wasn’t the Lawrence you knew.  
The Lawrence you knew was screaming inside. He wanted to pull away, he wanted to hold you gently and tell you it was alright. He wanted to at least look away from your eyes, filling quickly with fearful tears. He wanted to cover his ears so he didn’t have to hear you scream and beg and cry. You were calling his name, screaming for help. You were genuinely _terrified_ of him, and he could do nothing. He fought with all his might when It reached for your gardening shears, raising them above Its head before bringing them down to bury the tips in the wood floor under your head, the blades less than a centimeter from your neck.  
_Please stop please stop please stop no more_  
It grinned wickedly as It stood to admire Its handiwork, your shaking hands weakly trying to move the shears without hurting yourself, begging him to let you free, because this wasn’t funny, you might get hurt. Lawrence tried to close his eyes when Its heel ground into your hand, the sound of bones crumbling drowned out by your scream.

Lawrence wasn’t the type to think about sex much. He was never really interested, and he never thought he’d have anyone, anyway. Sometimes, he wondered what it was like. Occasionally, he dreamed about you, how he would want you to feel.  
He didn’t want it to be like this.  
It had made quick work of your clothes, leaving you shivering and trying to retain what modesty you had left with your undamaged hand. You were too exhausted to scream anymore, resorting to soft sobbing and the occasional whimper or beg. Lawrence tried not to focus on your face, or the feeling of your nipples between Its teeth, or your choked sob that turned into a soft mewl when Its hands ventured between your legs and you started a new string of begs and whimpers, squirming as much as you could before It put Its knee on your calf, pushing down enough to bruise, but not quite enough to break. Lawrence tried everything he could do distract from the rising heat between his legs. He had thought of sharing this with you, but in his mind his hands were gentler, his voice softer. You would both be happy.  


Lawrence wanted to cry when he felt his body move without his permission, when he heard you let out a hoarse scream and he felt himself get even warmer, It moving far too fast and too dry for a first time. He didn’t want to feel this good, he didn’t want your warm, soft skin under his fingers. He didn’t want to hear you crying and moaning and begging for him to stop. Your hands were on his chest, your shaking fists hitting him weakly, until It held you down, and then replaced Its crushing grip with the scissors Law had used just this morning to trim his bonsai. Lawrence felt sick to his stomach when he saw your blood, and would’ve vomited had he had control over his body when It leaned over to lick your quivering hand.  
It left his body mere seconds before Law reached climax, but he couldn't stop. Both of you glistened with sweat as he felt the rush wash over him, and he felt something hot and wet and disgusting. Law shook violently as he slowly pulled out, before turning away from you to dry heave, then vomit on the floor. Tears finally burst from his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands, muttering your name over and over between gasping sobs.  
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry...”  
He tried to steady his fingers as he pulled the shears out of the floor, feeling his stomach turn once more when he saw the lacerations in your neck. You refused to look at him, squeezing your eyes shut tight. Lawrence wished he could do the same.  
Instead, he took the blanket off his bed nearby, his favorite one, the softest one he owned, shakily wrapping it around you, flinching when you jumped and let out a soft yelp. He was still crying softly, still muttering his mantra. He slowly wrapped his arms around you, and his heart sank into his stomach when he felt your whole body tense.  
“I’m sorry...”


End file.
